October
by wweismann
Summary: 'Maybe that is the problem, my addiction to things that I know I will never have: the snake who grew up getting rid of everything that could be positive, the rigor and the lack of warm and friendly words moving away from anything that could bring me something good, something that I knew I did not deserve.' [DRAMIONE] [ONE-SHOT] [COMPLETE]


I would not be able to say precisely when it all started. The natural flux going so gradually that the initial spark may have come sometime when the anger became admiration from afar, when the words that were spoken slowly lost their intention to hurt, when revulsion turned into confusion until become acceptance of how one felt.

It has been fourteen years since our paths crossed for the first time. Five years ago we walked into the same office at the Ministry after she came to me asking for help with the laws – the variable interpretation of those words, my ability to read in between the lines that she recognized to be better than she could have – and ever since we stayed there. At some point 'Malfoy' turned into 'Draco', the professional distance became smiles shared out there, the lunch breaks showed two workaholics that had so much more in common than they allowed themselves to show while eating on their desks in order to keep up with the processes before the deadlines. And so the conversations began.

That is what hurts me the most, having allowed myself to dream. Having allowed myself to have let a miscellany of fantasies get hold of my dreams and created the most insane and utopian images without reminding myself to remember that they were nothing but lies that I kept telling myself, full of what ifs and maybes. I was a masochist, I was sure of that every time my serious face found her eyes while she laughed of some stupid joke and I ended up smiling. Maybe that is the problem, my addiction to things that I know I will never have: the snake who grew up getting rid of everything that could be positive, the rigor and the lack of warm and friendly words moving away from anything that could bring me something good, something that I knew I did not deserve.

That is why I never said a word.

I never told about how her bulky hair was adorable, providing the perfect frame for the face or a fierce and formidable woman that had goals and knew that the sky was the limit to whatever she wanted to accomplish, bringing some fresh hair in that sea of boring legal discussions and wizards three times our ages unable to stop Hurricane Hermione.

I have never mentioned how her muggle clothes in between those black robes looked perfect, the balance between comfort and expressing her origin in a daily basis, passively reminding every single person here that our best employee would not be here a few generations ago, being unable to socialize in our world just for being a muggle born. I never said that I saw her face lighten up when I let myself follow her lead and came to work with those surprisingly comfortable muggle jeans.

It has never crossed my mind talk about how her intelligence was so attractive to me, the walking encyclopedia That when facing something she recognized she did not know a thing about would run to the library and return a few hours later with the answer to whatever the problem was. She knew, though, that I had fun provoking her, making up facts that made little to no sense and making her question her own knowledge until I end up laughing and she slapped my arm just before joining me in laughing.

I would not be the one to say that her heart as big as it gets, the ability of forgiving years of bullying, cruel words and incapacity of acting seeng her being tortured in my own house. How she would stop everything to help Potter to find the perfect gift for Weaslette even though he asked for her help in the last minute, how she would never keep the letter for a foreign student unanswered regardless of how much paperwork would accumulate on her desk, on how she would give it all of her without asking for nothing in return – and not having who would do her the same.

I would never say out loud that I made the Ministry himself demand that she would take a week off after finding her after work hours sleeping on top of lawsuits, the exhaustion in every inch of her body that begged for some proper rest. I would also never told anyone that I regretted that in the second that she entered the office we shared next Monday with a ring that I have never seen before.

He had popped the question. It have been seven years of getting together and breaking up, screams, fights and mistakes – all his, one blonder and thinner than the previous one – until he decided to go down on one knee and asked her to marry him, the foul-looking opaque diamond informing me her answer.

I should have read The Daily Prophet this morning.

She came to tell me with a big smile on her face, the shoulders no longer tense as if they were no longer carrying the weight of all that happened in her relationship and the ring on her finger. Inside I was breaking in a million pieces carried by the wind that would never be found, patches done in order to keep what was left together or at least functional while the voice in my head tormented me, reminding me that I have been told that it was not worth dreaming. And I congratulated her.

March passed in na enormous amount of laws and calls in order to find the perfect venue to her day. She insisted in marrying in a muggle church, he wanted to do so at The Burrow; she wanted the smallest amount of people there, he wanted the entire press and Wizarding world. I saw her frustrated when Weaslette came into our office with wedding magazines and my heart stopped: I knew she would be getting married but things were getting real too quickly.

In April I managed to work with the French Ministry and spend more time away from her, the attempt of trying not to think about what was going to happen in a few months being my modus operandi: typically Malfoy, typically Slytherin. Do not feel, do not think, do not suffer.

The first flowers came in May, the bouquets in great quantities while she picked between roses, lilies, daffodils and tulips. She asked my opinion and I would just mumbled a few words ignoring what each flower meant, hiding myself behind growing piles of paperwork in order to justify the short answers.

June Fifth I walked into the MinIstry with dark circles under my eyes announcing that my twentieth-sixth year of life had barely started but was still lacking into good news. On my desk with the silverly handwriting on the blue paper was the invitation. When she approached me with hopeful eyes, a 'You are coming, right?' on her lips I could do nothing else but to say I would be there.

That night with a glass of firewhiskey on my hand I could still smell her jasmine perfume.

July came and gone with no special events, the perfectly timed invitation from Blaise to take two weeks off and join him on the Italian villa that he inherited from his mother being a light at the end of the tunnel full of conversations that mixed up jurisprudence and cake flavors. All I could not forget was that they have decided to marry in a small chapel in the South of London and having a party at The Burrow afterwards to please both the bride and the groom.

In August she came talk to me. She said that the last months have been busy and intense and asked if everything was fine with me and if I really did not wanted another invitation to bring a plus one. She was organizing the tables and needed to know it immediately to decide where would I sit. When I reassured her that I would be going all by myself I could swear I saw hope on her eyes but it must have been only the reflection of the light. She smiled and said goodbye, saying that we should get lunch together at work more often in order to keep up with the news.

"They say that Italy is beautiful", she sighed. It would be more beautiful if you were there.

September Nineteenth I could not escape. She gathered all her close friends and somehow I saw myself sitting between Lovegood and Longbottom in a Muggle bar to celebrate her twentieth-seventh birthday. She who would every now and then being seen on Weasley's arms or smiling at Potter made a speech and thanked for everyone's presence that night.

She who came to hug me saying goodbye whispered in my ear that if it was not for Weasley she would have somehow make me a maid of honor.

October was ending matching green, yellow, red and orange with the cold breeze that demanded warmer clothes and announced the upcoming visit of winter. Tying the knot in October was not something I would expect from Hermione, her kind and pleasant personality being more similar to the Spring that promised so much more than the season that came just before the cold monochromatic end. Halloween was no further than a couple days from the big day but the muggle decor was already seen on the surrounding area of the chapel.

I had a black suit on with a black shirt underneath. The Malfoy fame for once in a long time bringing something good: to everyone else I looked elegant, to myself I was wearing my mourning, all by myself on the last bench close to the main door. The simple colors of the church decoration contrasted with the growing quantity of guests while I asked myself why someone so full of life and strength picked up such boring pastel tones until I reminded about the groom's hair color.

She would once more shut herself down in order to favor others.

The door opened and the music started, Weaslette with her arms with one of her own brother's starting the parade that was supposed to bring so much joy, the song that for me painted it all black. Lovegood came right behind her with another Weasley and I could swear that for a fraction of second her eyes met mine and she read my soul, sighing heavily while she passed in front of me and followed her path.

That was when the bridal march started.

She was gorgeous but I never thought otherwise. I could go on and describe in details her hair in na elegant bun, the simple classic white dress and the blue flowers on her free hand while she held a nervous Potter that cleared tried – and failed – to look presentable. She looked to me and gave me a tiny smile and I saw myself miming her gesture.

I could not take it anymore.

As soon as she walked though me I walked to the side of the church, finding my way until the exit and leaving the place silently, looking for an empty place and heading to a wizarding bar downtown, the necessity of filling my body with something strong that acted quickly, the soul tormented for the lack of action.

There is something to be said about the lions. They go after what they want, roar to get attention, act without thinking about the consequences. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and are not afraid of doing what is right even though it is not easy. The red in their clothes bring them courage and do not let the enemy see when they bleed, allowing them to follow their way until the last moment, the fire burning in their eyes and unable to be stopped.

But I am just a snake.

The first glass came burning my throat, reminding that in this empty body I am still able to feel something. The second dose came while I played with the ice on the glass, the mind distracted looking through the window and watching the start of a storm, a perfect allegory for how I was feeling. The difference is that for me it would be an ongoing sea of dark clouds and rain while I started to live what would be a long and intense winter that gave no sign of ever leaving.

The melancholy and pain of a pale figure dressed all in black with not a single remnant of happiness and joy framed by the thick glass of the window that was now being hit by heavy raindrops.

The third dose just came into my hands when I heard the sound of the first thunder, the almost divine permission to let me drown in my own misery a little bit longer, letting her fulfill me inch by inch and claiming my last breathe, the asphyxia from the lack of initiative compressing what was left from positive thoughts that one day I dreamt of letting grow.

The world is a mill and it was crunching my dreams and turning my illusions to dust and there was nothing left to be done.

Right now she is probably walking down the chapel's aisle under applauses and happy cries of the guests after giving the kiss that would assure their commitment, the rice grains would be thrown at them and the pictures that would be all over The Daily Prophet by tomorrow morning are being taken, the guests and the couple would be heading to The Burrow where they could see the floral arrangements that she was so proud of while they could see her around his arms on the first husband and wife dance while she would ignore his lack of training and he stepping on her feet every five seconds. She would be smiling openly and taking compliments, posing for photographies and allowing herself to cut what would be a chocolate cake that she once told me that made her thing about special days with her parents. A lonely teardrop would go down her face while she would be thinking about what her parents would be doing now in Australia but soon she would be happy again when she reminded herself that she had so much colleagues and friends that would do anything to help her to start her own family. 'Today', she would think, 'Is the first day of the rest of my life'.

I rose my glass in a lonely and pathetic toast, wishing her the best while I thought to myself all I could do to leave the Ministry as soon as possible: I had two weeks to go as far away as I could, just hoping that distance and time would heal all the wounds. I contemplated the cloudy and grey weather that looked more like a portrait of my soul than anything else when the door made the sound of a new costumer coming in. Guided by the curiosity to know which kind of person would be in this empty place where nothing good would be waiting in a Saturday afternoon, my eyes went straight to the door.

And I froze.

The curly hair was out of control due the humidity, leaving the what I knew to have been a perfect bun, the shoes that have once been white were covered in mud, the mascara running down her lashes into her wet face while the ripped white dress wet the floor. I close my eyes, cursing the alcohol and the cruelty of a Creator that made me hallucinate right here, right now.

But when I opened my eyes she was standing by my table.

'You...' I tried to form a phrase, thousands of words passing through my mind trying to form some order and logic and being used in order to let me ask what I wanted to know. Her dressed drawing the curves of her body, her eyes staring me and the heavy breathe like she was finally letting herself to catch her breath after running for so long.

'I couldn't...' Her words unable to form a full sentence not because she did not have what to say but because she was analyzing me while my brain tried to fully understand what those words meant.

'But here...' Confusion was the world to describe how I was feeling while the bartender ignored us and focused on cleaning something due the lack of costumers, letting ourselves alone in our own private world in this island of chaos.

'I had to find you' she stepped closer, the bravery of the lions that I learned to admire along all of her qualities, the attempt to solve whatever was bugging her being more urgent than anything else. She was determinate to find the answer to her question, I could see this on her deep intense brown eyes. 'I need to know if you...' A thunder came from above and hided her words to anyone that unlike me was more than a few inches away.

I smiled.

Even a snake gets a second chance.

N/A – Easter holiday and I'm supposed to be working on a paper, Billboard Country's playlist playing Marry Me by Thomas Rhett and my dear friend Céu who requested me to write her a fanfic to read this weekend are the ones to blame for the initial idea of this oneshot.

Thanks to Cartola for singing 'O Mundo É Um Moinho' that helped me to get over a block in a certain moment of this fanfic. Thanks to Draco Malfoy for being one of my favorite characters and always surprise me when I try to come up with how I think he would be in the future.

Thanks to you for having the patience to read this and please make my day and write a review!

As usual sorry for any grammar mistakes, English is not my mother language and this is a one shot I translated from Portuguese and I tried my best to not lose much in translation (though if you speak Portuguese I guarantee it is much better in my beloved language and you should check!).

If you feel like taking a look at some other random things I sometimes write and post you can find them on tumblr (wweismann).


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